


I'll Be There

by Leah



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Cuddling, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Nightmares, Post Hell Dean, Sick Sam Winchester, like so much cuddling, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-07-03
Updated: 2013-07-03
Packaged: 2017-12-17 13:11:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,862
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/867922
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Leah/pseuds/Leah
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Over the years, Sam and Dean have become experts at protecting and comforting each other. In this, Dean takes care of Sam until, suddenly, Dean needs Sam to take care of him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	I'll Be There

Sleeping never came easy to Sam, even _before_ he read Dad’s journal. The dark has always played tricks on his eyes, and his overactive imagination gave him nightmares at least once a week. Sam claimed he was fine, but, in all his fourteen-year-old wisdom, Dean knew better than to trust that declaration. Which brings Dean to now, sitting with his blankets tucked around his legs and watching his little brother dozing in the moonlight, long after Dean himself should have been asleep. 

Dean’s eyelids droop, threatening to close completely, but he shakes his head and rubs his eyes. He has to stay awake. He has to be there when Sammy needs him. 

Trying to focus, Dean watches Sam’s face, and he notes that it is not quite peaceful. His eyebrows scrunch together every few minutes, and he’s tossing around under his covers, lightly. It’s a constant wiggle, just enough motion to keep Dean’s attention.  
Suddenly, Sam’s shoulders press against the mattress harshly, and a soft whimper escapes his lips before his arms begin wildly thrashing against the cheap covers. His whimpers turn into moans, and his thrashing turns into a frenzy. 

Dean is up in an instant, breaching the distance between their small beds in one bound. He kneels near Sam’s face, running his fingers through Sam’s soft hair. Dean makes a shushing noise as his heart hammers in his chest, just like it does every time his Sam is in trouble. 

“Sammy,” Dean murmurs, just loud enough to begin breaking through Sam’s sleep. “Sammy, it’s okay, but you gotta wake up, Sammy. I’m here, don’t worry, just wake up, _please_ Sam.”

Sam is completely oblivious of Dean’s efforts, continuing with his wild tossing and turning. The terrified moans amp up a little, getting louder and more crazed. His face shines with a thin layer of sweat. Dean climbs onto the cramped bed and runs his hands over Sam’s chest, making little circles, begging Sam to release himself from this terror.

“Please, Sammy,” Dean pleads, tears threatening to spill over his eyes. He is so clearly incapable of protecting his little brother. Why would Dad leave him alone with Sam? Dean tries to push those thoughts from his head, focusing on Sam again.   
He lightly shakes his baby brother, trying to disrupt the rhythm of his dream. “Sam, I need you to wake up,” Dean says, a little louder. 

Something seems to click inside Sam, and his limbs slowly relax into the damp sheets as his eyes flutter open. He reaches his hands out towards Dean, beckoning him with a curl of his fingers. 

“Dean,” Sam chokes out, tears of fear pouring out of his cloudy eyes. “Dean!”

Dean just makes a shushing noise, wrapping his arms around Sam’s shoulders. Sam’s fingers curl tightly in Dean’s shirt, so tight his knuckles turn white, in an effort to ground himself in reality. This reality, where Dean is holding him, and Dean smells so nice, and everything is okay. 

Sam shakes against Dean’s chest, and Dean holds on tighter, wrapping the ends of Sam’s hair around his fingertips. “I’m here, Sammy,” Dean murmurs against Sam’s forehead, which earns Dean more vigorous tremors rolling through Sam. 

“I love you, Dean,” Sam whimpers, pulling Dean to lay down next to him in the bed. 

“I love you, too, Sam,” Dean whispers, the ends of their noses brushing against each other. Dean breathes in a deep breath, trying to calm the jitters that rose at Sam’s distress. He hopes Sam doesn’t notice, and drifts to sleep with the sound of Sam breathing slowly echoing in his ears.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Dean wakes up to the sound of wheezy, labored breaths coming from the other half of the bed. He rolls on to his side to see his fifteen-year-old brother laying on his back, staring at nothing in particular. Dean gives himself a moment of waking-up time before propping himself on his elbows. Hell, it’s not even time to be awake. Moonlight is still filtering through the cheap motel curtains. 

“You okay, Sammy?” he asks, feeling an old, familiar nagging pulling at his stomach. 

“I think I’m gonna hurl,” Sam groans before throwing himself out of bed and running to the bathroom. He doesn’t have time to shut the door before he’s on his knees in front of the toilet, retching out what remains of his dinner. Dean gives Sam a moment to relax before following him into the bathroom. It smells like cheap cleaning supplies and vomit, but Dean doesn’t mind. He just sits down next to Sam, rubbing his back. 

“Feel better?” Dean inquires, feeling his brother’s shaking shoulders. Sammy really hates throwing up. Like, more than the average person. It hurts his throat and makes him nearly hysterical every time. 

Sam shakes his head vigorously, bracing his elbows against the edge of the toilet and holding his head in his hands. A sob   
threatens to escape, but Sam refuses to let it. He hates feeling like such a wimp every single time he’s sick, so he’d much rather force his sobs deeper into his chest, causing a massive case of the shakes, than be the baby of the family _again_. 

“If you don’t wanna puke anymore, you gotta relax, Sam,” Dean murmurs, tracing circles between Sam’s shoulder blades. “You know this, c’mon. Just take a deep breath.”

Sam starts to do as Dean says, but he already put too much stress on his misbehaving stomach, and he throws up again. He has no more food left in him, and the acrid smell of pure stomach acid burns Dean’s nose. 

“C’mon, Sam,” Dean whispers, pressing a light kiss to the back of Sam’s neck. It’s damp with sweat.

“Dean,” Sam nearly sobs. It breaks Dean’s heart every time. Sam looks at him with such pleading in his eyes, begging Dean to somehow make him feel better, to somehow end his suffering, but Dean can’t. All he can do is keep rubbing Sam’s back and spout off nonsense reassurances, until Sam relaxes slightly. 

“You ready to go back to bed?” Dean asks, tucking Sam’s shaggy hair behind his ears. It’s a miracle Sam didn’t get puke in it.  
Sam just nods, flushing the toilet and quickly rinsing his mouth out. Dean helps Sam cross the small room again, tucking Sam into bed before going back to flick off the bathroom light. The room seems impossibly dark, and all the objects are now just silhouettes, vague outlines of themselves. 

Sam’s pitiful sniffling makes Dean’s heart skip a beat. He doesn’t know what else to do but crawl back into bed. Dean slips under the covers to find Sam curled into a ball, facing Dean. 

“Dean,” Sam groans, unwrapping his arms from the tight circle he’s made of himself. Even though it sends aching pinpricks shooting all over his body, Sam adjusts himself until his head is resting directly under Dean’s chin. Dean’s skin, warm from sleeping, feels so comfortingly familiar under Sam’s cheek that he can’t help but feel a little bit better. 

He’s always loved snuggling with Dean, and, ever since he’d turned fourteen, it’s been harder to get Dean to do it, even though Sam knows Dean likes it, too. Maybe he’s trying to make Sam grow up, but it doesn’t matter. 

All that matters is that Dean is here now, pressed up against Sam, running his hands through Sam’s hair, and whispering sweet nothings into Sam’s ear. All that matters is the overwhelming smell of Dean, earthy and sweet and wonderful, and the way Dean’s arms wrap tighter around Sam as he slowly slips into a restless sleep.

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Dean feels like his lungs have been ripped out of his chest, as he lies in the darkness of his room. Of course, when they least want it, Sam and Dean have separate rooms. Dean _knows_ Sam is lying in the dimness of his own room across the hall, feeling the exact same thing. 

Dean’s whole body aches with his need to be as close to Sam as possible, when he knows Sam is going to be hundreds of miles away at Stanford this time tomorrow. After laying in silence for a few minutes and punching his pillow a bit too hard, Dean finally hears his father’s bedroom door slam shut. 

A few seconds later, Sam’s door clicks open, and bare feet pad across the hall. Sam hesitates outside Dean’s room, though, unsure if Dean’s still angry or not. 

“C’mon in, Sammy,” Dean nearly whispers, scooting over in his bed to make room for Sam, who, in the last few years, has come to tower over Dean. Sam stumbles to the bed, but doesn’t get in. Instead he drops to his knees, propping his elbows on the mattress and resting his head in his hands.

Dean rolls closer to Sam, running his fingers up Sam’s forearm. A single, wracking sob rips through Sam’s body, his elbows shaking and threatening to lose their hold on the blankets. 

“Shh, Sammy,” Dean murmurs, sitting up and crossing his legs. He cards his fingers through Sam’s hair, just how both of them like it, the way that calms them both down no matter what. “If you don’t want Dad to find out until tomorrow, you gotta be quiet.”   
Sam’s breathing slows down gradually, but he still won’t look at Dean. 

“Sammy?” Dean asks, trying to rotate Sam’s face towards him. 

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Sam chokes out, finally turning towards Dean. His eyes are red and puffy, and tear stains wind their way over his cheeks. “I’m so sorry.”

“Shh,” Dean whispers, pulling Sam onto the bed with him. “It’s okay, Sammy.”

Dean lays down, pulling Sam with him. He manhandles Sam until they’re lying in bed, facing each other. Dean wraps his arm around Sam’s slender waist, slipping his hand under Sam’s shirt to rub his back. Sam’s skin is so soft under Dean’s fingers, Dean   
can’t help but snuggle closer to Sam. 

“You must be so disappointed in me,” Sam mumbles, holding back a fresh wave of tears. He presses his face closer to Dean’s warm neck. It smells so familiar. 

“No, Sam,” Dean whispers, prodding Sam so Dean is looking directly into his eyes. “I’m so proud of you. You are so fucking brilliant, you’re getting college for free. Don’t you think for a moment that I’m not so happy for you.”

“I don’t wanna leave you, Dean,” Sam bawls, gripping Dean’s shirt tightly. 

“And I don’t want you to go,” Dean murmurs, kissing Sam’s forehead and holding down his own fresh wave of emotion. He has to be strong for Sam. He can break down when Sam is gone, but not now.

Sam takes a moment to just stop thinking. He stops thinking about how much packing he still has to do, how much driving he will have to do, how little time he has left with Dean. Instead, he thinks about the here-and-now , swaddled in Dean’s protective arms, breathing in the familiar scent of Dean’s cologne. It’s chemical and sweet and everything Sam needs right now. 

All Sam needs is Dean, and, in less than twenty-four hours, he’ll be walking away from him. Sam is abandoning Dean, but it’s too late to call it off. He’s made up his mind.

As if to make up for his soon-to-be absence, Sam snakes his arms under and around Dean’s chest, holding himself impossibly closer to his older brother. Dean listens to Sam’s breath even out and tries not to think that it might be the last time he hears it. 

~_~_~_~_~_~_~

Dean can remember everything: the hooks digging into his flesh, the hellfire biting his skin, the sick joy he got from torturing those other poor souls. A war is waging in his head between feeling glad to be back and being ashamed for being so evil. He honestly doubted Sam would want to see him, if he found out what Dean had done in Hell. 

Good thing Sam will never know. 

All Dean has to do is feign ignorance, and Sam will never know, and Sam will never leave him for being so twisted.   
Dean decides this late at night, lying in their room in Bobby’s house. Usually, one takes the room and one takes the living room couch, just to get a break from each other, but, tonight, Sam won’t let Dean out of sight, lest this is just a sick joke, and Dean will just disintegrate into nothingness when Sam isn’t looking. 

Sam makes himself a nice bed out of blankets and sleeping bags on the floor beside the bed, where Dean has laid since after dinner. He’s terrified of the prospect of sleep. He _knows_ it’s all going to come back, and Dean wants nothing more than to just forget every single detail. 

Before Sam flicks the light switch, he stares at Dean for a long moment. 

“What?” Dean asks, feeling his face, making sure everything is in order.

“I really fuckin’ missed you, Dean,” Sam murmurs, savoring the look on his older brother’s face before he plunges the room into darkness, lit only dimly by the moon peeking through the crack in the curtains. Dean curls himself into a ball under the soft covers, and never has he ever been so thankful for a pillow. A shitty pillow at that, but it’s like pure heaven to Dean’s weary head. 

As a rule, Hell doesn’t allow for these kinds of little pleasures. 

Out of pure necessity, Dean drifts into an uneasy sleep. Behind his eyes, he sees horrible flashes of bleeding wounds and smells burning flesh. He can hear his own maniacal laughter as he brings the barbed whip down on some unlucky dude, ripping up the skin on the stranger’s back easily. He remembers how it felt on his own body, sending a searing, white-hot pain through his entire being. 

In the real world, Sam is suddenly awoken by the screams of his brother. Not whimpers, not moans; screams. Dean is begging an unseen force for mercy, saying he’ll do anything as long as it stops, as long as he gets a rest. Sam is at Dean’s side in an instant, holding Dean’s head in his hands and trying to contain Dean’s flailing limbs. 

“Dean!” Sam cries, dropping his forehead until it’s pressed against Dean’s. “Dean, wake up! Please, I’m here. I’ve got you, just wake up!” 

Sam’s never done this before, and he’s not sure how Dean woke him up from countless night terrors without batting an eye. It’s horrible, watching the most important person in the world suffering for no reason. Dean’s voice is going hoarse from straining it so hard, and Sam gets even more desperate. 

Sam tries to disrupt the motion of Dean’s nightmare by catching his legs between Sam’s knees and lightly shaking Dean’s torso. “C’mon, Dean,” Sam mutters, trying to keep himself calm. Suddenly, Dean’s screams stop, and the silence echoes in Sam’s ears for a minute before he shakes Dean again. “Dean, please,” he begs. 

Dean’s legs spasm again before his eyes flutter open, and he sobs, “Sammy!” 

Tears are openly pouring down Dean’s cheeks, and Sam wipes them away with his thumbs, gently. He shushes Dean’s sobs, pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead, while Dean wraps his arms around Sam’s waist, holding fast to reality. Dean’s whole body shakes with the purging of his emotions, and he squeezes tighter around Sam. 

“Dean, it’s okay,” Sam whispers, kissing away tears from Dean’s cheeks. “I’m right here, I’ve got you.”

“Sam,” Dean chokes out as Sam moves to the side of Dean. He pulls Dean into a sitting position, hoping it will calm his older brother a little bit. It sort of does, as Dean snuggles closer, tucking his head under Sam’s chin and letting his baby brother hold him for a minute, making big circles on his back with his fingers. 

Even though Sam’s bony legs are poking Dean’s body in all the wrong ways, he can’t move. He’s frozen here, caught up in Sam’s affectionate, calming presence, and allows himself a few minutes sans thought. He just feels Sam so close to him, so big compared to him, so innocent compared to him. 

“Dean,”: Sam murmurs, and Dean is suddenly aware of the tears falling from Sam’s eyes onto his hair. “How do I fix this?”

“You can’t,” Dean whispers. “I don’t deserve to be fixed, anyway.”

“Don’t say that,” Sam nearly sobs. “You are the best man I know. All you do is care about other people. You sacrificed your entire life just to protect some random people you’ll probably never see again.”

“No,” Dean chokes, clenching Sam’s shirt in his fingers. “I did it for you.”

Sam lets out a deep breath before pressing another kiss to the top of Dean’s head. They lay down in tandem, and Sam drapes   
his arm across Dean’s waist, pulling him flush against his chest. 

Dean’s not sure he deserves to be saved, but he’s not going to argue with Sam’s efforts right now.

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you all so much for reading, it really means a lot to me. Please tell me what you think in of this in comment! I would really appreciate it!


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